The World in 45
by MartianFox
Summary: The year is 1945, and Linda Carrotfield is traveling to Zootopia on Aero Metro Flight 45. The small plane is filled to capacity with both predator and prey mammals, several of whom have been battling personal problems. Among them is Kenneth Reynard, a former pool shark who may have just lost his girlfriend. But all their issues are soon overshadowed by an inflight engine failure.
1. Chapter 1

The bluish-grey dawn produced an ethereal glow inside the rustic bedroom, and Linda Carrotfield awoke with a broad smile. This was the day she had been waiting for months to arrive. In less than three hours, she would be stepping off a plane in world's greatest city, Zootopia.

Linda had been staying in the second bedroom of her massive family's house. Extending the length of the large room were two long bunk beds, each containing half of her 295 siblings. As a temporary houseguest, Linda slept in her own bed underneath the window at the far end of the room. Her mental alarm clock dutifully awoke her at roughly 6:00 AM, giving her ample time to get ready and catch her 8:15 flight. Linda threw off her covers, but discovered too late that her bed had an extra occupant. Marsha was one of the youngest members the Carrotfield litter, and certainly among the sweetest. She had apparently left her usual place in one of the enormous bunks and weaseled her way beside the sleeping Linda. Marsha, who was wearing a plain, white nightdress, stirred and opened her big, green eyes.

Linda smiled warmly. "What are you doing in my bed, Marsha?"

Marsha yawned and lethargically replied, "I wanted to be with you before you went away again, Linda. I miss you when you're away."

Linda embraced her younger sister. "I miss you, too. But I have a job now and I need to serve passengers on the airplanes I ride in."

Marsha looked up blankly. "But you're on vacation. How come you want to go to the city?"

Linda chuckled guiltily. "Well, I'm on leave for only a week. I've already spent the day here and I loved the party you guys threw for me. But Zootopia has always been a dream vacation for me."

"But you've been there before."

"I know, but all those other times I was working and couldn't actually visit. Now I can spend the rest of the week there doing whatever I want."

Marsha sighed despondently. "Are you going to come back home when your vacation's over?"

Linda was beginning to feel like a terrible older sister. "When my vacation's over, I'll need to go back to work. But I will be home either for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Christmas for sure, I promise."

Linda gave Marsha another big hug and passionately kissed the top of her head. She quietly made her way out the room, grabbing her travel clothes which hung from a wire rack. In the bathroom, Linda preened, polished, and enhanced herself with her make up kit. As a stewardess, she had to follow a rigid dress code which dictated her appearance down to the minutest detail. But even on special occasions, Linda would load herself with makeup and use the very same rules of presentation simply for the fun and glamor of it.

Fun and glamor was what Linda had been led to believe what the life of a stewardess entailed. As a young bunny, she had seen the ads of the fledgling airline industry. They featured smiling, beautifully dressed ladies serving the wealthy elite on a never ending journey around the world. Linda grew up with dreams of getting free rides across the continent and beyond, visiting new places and always meeting exciting new animals. Her parents tried to dissuade her from her aspirations, but Linda insisted that she would live out her envisioned life of airborne bliss. She would be in for an egregious disappointment. She'd been told many times about the practical realties of air travel. But as bunnies say, 'The words poured down one ear and shot up out of the other.' It wasn't until her first few flights when those realities hit her in the face. Those advertisements of grandeur turned out to be droning pneumatic tubes filled with cigarette smoke, vomit, and patronizing passengers. Far from a life of adventure, the airline stewardess endured hours of strenuous schedules, rigid codes of conduct, and the constant pressures of maintaining a positive smile and conversational tone throughout the work day. Linda hid these feelings of disillusionment for fear of humiliating brandings of naivety and stuck with her job so as to avoid the disgrace of abandoning a lifelong dream.

When her transformation was complete, Linda was in a lime green blouse with a slightly darker green shade skirt which reached just above her barefeet. To supplement her clothing, she put on a pair of white gloves and a lime green, short brimmed, tilt hat with an artificial white lotus fastened to it. After grabbing her purse and small travel pack, she made her way to the kitchen where her mother, Marilyn, and several of her sisters were baking the scores of carrot pancakes necessary to feed the enormous family. Marilyn was a plump bunny of simple taste and was dressed in a white shirt, slightly dulled by ware and food stains, and a brown skirt. Marilyn had just added ten pancakes on top of one of the enormous towers setting on the table when she caught sight of the formally dressed Linda. Marilyn's round face contorted into an expression of bittersweet pride as she lumbered over to embrace her daughter. Irene, the oldest of the sisters in the kitchen, could not suppress an expression of abject jealousy, whereas the other younger sisters all enthusiastically crowded around the bashful Linda.

"Oh, you look gorgeous!"

"You won't have any trouble fitting in the city!"

"You look like one of the estate bunnies!"

Linda's smile was from ear to ear, so to speak. "Thank you, girls. That's so sweet."

Still crying, Marilyn smooched both of Linda's cheeks. "Oh, Linda, I am gonna miss yah so. Why can't you just at least spend one more day with us? I'll bake you all the blueberry pies you ask for and we'll have another fine shindig after supper or whenever else yah please."

Linda was smiled awkwardly. "I'd love to stay, but my flight's already been booked. I promise I'll send postcards and bring back photos of all the places I visit. I'll even buy you a nice shawl or something."

"What about for me?" Irene asked, still looking miffed.

"If I get you something, then the rest of the girls will want something, too."

Irene folded her arms. "How come you're just getting something for Mama, then?"

"Because she's our _mother_. When you have dozens of sisters, you can't possibly buy something for all of them!"

The front door swung open and her father, Franklin, entered. He was dressed in soiled, blue overalls and a grimy t-shirt. On his head was a ratty, old baseball cap he had since he was a teenager.

He removed the cap and threw it onto the countertop in frustration. "Mama, I just can't get that darned tractor to start no more! I've tried replacing the sparkplug, I've tried changing the oil…..why short of bribing it with a bottle o' whiskey I think I've…"

Franklin stopped short upon noticing Linda and his sour expression brightened. "Linda! Is that really you?"

Linda grinned proudly. She was no narcissist, but she did enjoy receiving praise for her appearance.

Franklin approached Linda to give her a hug, but Marilyn quickly cautioned, "Hold it, Frank! Yer covered in engine oil!"

"But I gotta give the cherub a hug, Mama!" Franklin insisted.

Linda did not want any more guilty feelings so, despite Franklin's filth, she kissed his cheek.

Franklin chuckled stupidly, "Well, I'd swear if I didn't see's yeh come out Mama's pah'toot myself, I'd say you's born an angel."

All the sisters except Linda, who was mortified, and Irene, who gave an envious "Humph!" exploded with laughter. But Marilyn was not amused. She rat-tailed him with her dishtowel, causing the girls to laugh even harder, and chided, "Now that's no such talk around the young'ns, Frank!"

When the laughter subsided, Marilyn hugged Linda again. "Now be real careful, yah hear me? Stay away from the bars and alleys, especially at night."

Franklin did not hesitate to add, "And stay away from foxes and weasels."

Marilyn nodded with approval. "He's absolutely right about that, sweetheart. Them varmints can't be trusted with their own little devil-spawns."

Linda smiled and rolled her eyes. "I'm not even going to be anywhere near places with foxes and weasels. Most of them live in Happytown or in other ghetto areas."

Marilyn pressed, "Well, still be careful about who yah tangle with. The city is the city and pretty ladies like yourself have to keep away from any suspicious characters."

A car horn honked twice. Linda looked out the open door and caught sight of her taxi pulling by the curb.

"He's here. I need to go now," Linda announced and hugged Marilyn for the last time.

The sisters, including Irene, joined the embraced. Lind gave Franklin a final smooch and grabbed her luggage, which had been waiting by the door since the night before. The other Carrotfield children began pouring into the kitchen just as Linda walked outside. Not wanting to miss saying goodbye, all the little bunnies rushed outside, waving and hollering their farewells.

As she set her luggage down for the driver to put into the trunk, Linda looked back at the legions of rabbit children rushing at her. Marilyn and Franklin stumbled through the horde, waving and barely holding back their tears. The raccoon driver hurriedly loaded the trunk and rushed to the driver's seat. Linda almost broke out in tears of joy upon seeing her family all passionately sending their love and best wishes. She even momentarily considered staying. But she had already committed to her vacation and boarded the taxi after blowing her family a final kiss. The taxi puttered off, blowing a cloud of black smoke through its exhaust pipe. Linda turned in her seat to look out the rear window. Her siblings chased the car, continuing to wave and holler, stopping only at the edge of the property. Linda waved back and then turned to face forward.

The driver let out a long sigh. "How many kids do you guys have?"

"We have 296, including me. I'm the oldest."

Impressed, the driver clicked his tongue. "And I thought I came from a big family."

Linda let out a sigh of relief; she was finally on her way.


	2. Chapter 2

Linda felt a rising sensation of pure excitement as the taxi pulled up to the main entrance of Bunnyburrow Airfield. It was a small airport with a single runway, and the only passenger service it offered was the seasonal Zootopia-Bunnyburrow route operated by Aero Metro.

At the beginning of the century, Bunnyburrow was an insignificant farm community. When business tycoons from Zootopia began to arrive, they bought up much of the property and went on to setup commercial farms with electricity and modern equipment. They upgraded the train station to facilitate the heavy industrial cargo being sent from the city and built small airstrip to handle crop-dusting aircraft. Before long, Bunnyburrow Airstrip was upgraded to handle airline passenger service and became Bunnyburrow Airfield.

The taxi screeched to a halt and Linda handed the driver her fee.

"Have a good trip," the driver said as he accepted the cash.

"Thank you, I will." Linda exited the car and closed the door, producing a sound similar to a creaky garbage can lid shutting.

The driver dutifully retrieved Linda's luggage from the trunk and quickly drove off to his next client. Because this was a small airport with a single passenger carrier in operation, the terminal was a one story building with a modest lobby and a small thrift store. As a domestic airport, it lacked customs and immigration areas. Therefore, passengers only needed to check in and sit in the small waiting room. With a confident grin, Linda strode into the building and headed for the check-in counter. Standing at the counter was a middle-aged pig by the name of Gretchen Wilbur. She was dressed in the standard Aero Metro uniform, which consisted of a navy blue long-sleeved blouse and skirt with yellow trimming. Gretchen was staring despondently into space when she caught sight of the approaching Linda.

The sow quickly broke out into a big smile and left the counter to give Linda a friendly embrace. "Oh, Linda, you look gorgeous!"

When she loosened her hug, Gretchen looked down at Linda with playful envy. "It's so swell you're finally going! I am so jealous; I haven't had a decent vacation in years!"

Linda laughed. "I'm sure your time will come soon."

Gretchen nodded. "Don't forget to send me a postcard, you hear?"

"Don't worry, I won't forget," Linda replied as she reached into her purse to hand her free ticket to Gretchen.

Gretchen glanced at the ticket and tore off the stub. She proceeded to staple the ticket onto a boarding pass which she pulled out from behind the counter.

She handed Linda the pass and said with a smile, "Here you are. Have a nice flight!"

Linda handed Gretchen her duffle bag and suitcase, keeping her purse and small travel pack. "I will. Thank you!"

Gretchen tagged the bags and set them in the luggage pile to be hauled off by the bag boys. With a skip in her stride, Linda made her way to the sitting area, which was already occupied by several other passengers. She plopped down onto an unused couch positioned beneath the window looking out to the apron. She picked a Dogue magazine off the coffee table in front of her and began skimming through it. Halfway, she momentarily looked up from her magazine to look at the other mammals. There was a zebra mother sitting on a couch at the far end of the area with her son. Standing by the window was a young badger couple talking about their future together. Seated in a club chair in the corner was a ram with black wool, who was writing on a notepad and paying no mind to his surroundings. With about an hour left before boarding, Linda realized that it was likely that more passengers would arrive. With a sigh, she returned to her magazine and quickly became immersed in its pages.

She was unsure how long it had been when a masculine, Jersey accented voice pulled her out of her reading trance. "Is this seat taken?"

Without taking her eyes off her magazine, Linda replied, "No, go ahead."

The figure took a seat in the club chair on the other side of the coffee table and grabbed a magazine of his own. Linda continued with her reading for the next fifteen minutes, during which time several more passengers entered the waiting room.

"Aero Metro Flight 44 from Zootopia, now arriving at Gate 1." Gretchen announced over the PA system.

Linda heard the approaching aircraft's twin piston engines from other side the observation window. She turned and spotted the ground crew guiding the plane into position and also noticed the pilots peering over the nose of the tail-dragger plane to follow the instructions being signaled to them. The pilots parked the plane squarely onto the apron and, at the command of the signalmammal, shut off the engines to allow the passengers to disembark. Linda turned back around and for the first time saw that the mammal sitting in front of her was a fox. He was dressed in a clean, white long-sleeved shirt with a brown waistcoat over it. His pants were also brown, as was his slightly outdated newsboy cap. The fox was absorbed in his Polar Mechanics magazine and didn't seem to be paying any attention to her. Still, Linda felt uncomfortable being so close to a fox and was preparing to find another seat. But it was at that moment the fox chose to look up from his reading and try to start a conversation.

With a friendly smile, the fox asked, "You fly often, Doll?"

Linda managed to produce an awkward grin. "Well…um… actually yes. I'm a stewardess, but I'm on leave."

Seemingly oblivious to Linda's uneasiness, the fox continued, "That sounds like a fun job."

Linda thought she had detected a note of sarcasm in the fox's compliment. To her relief, the fox seemed to turn his attention back to his magazine.

Linda was again getting ready to leave when the fox looked up from his reading a second time and introduced himself. "The name's Kenneth Reynard. I'm a professional pool player, myself."

Despite Kenneth's cordial behavior, Linda still wondered if she should simply ignore him, or make up some excuse to leave.

Before she could make up her mind, Kenneth set his magazine down and casually leaned back in his club chair. "So, you've been to Zootopia before?"

Linda nodded, "Yes, but only while serving flights. This is the first time I will actually be vacationing there."

Kenneth crossed his legs. "I grew up in Happytown. My father owned a pool hall there and I learned everything I know by watching the patrons play. When I was 8 or 9, I decided to join in and that's how I ended up…um…"earning" money."

There was something about the way Kenneth chose his words that made Linda suspicious. "You're a hustler, aren't you?"

Kenneth laughed, "Well, I used to be. I gave it all up for my girl. From now on, my income comes from sponsorships and winning tournaments."

Linda was still weary of Kenneth, but no longer felt like she was in any kind of danger. She found it strange that a fox would be boarding a plane at all. Though air travel was quickly becoming more commonplace, it was still extremely expensive and only business travelers and the wealthy could afford it. The only reason Aero Metro offered a passenger service to Bunnyburrow was because there were enough wealthy developers willing to pay the airfare. Most foxes had low incomes, as that was the practical reality of the world. So Linda assumed that Kenneth had purchased his ticket with his "earnings" from playing pool, though she wasn't convinced that his income was entirely pure. Still, she was interested in what sort of girl would so intrigue Kenneth that he would willingly give up a lucrative life of hustling.

"Who's your girlfriend?" Linda asked through a drawn out sigh.

A look of distant sorrow appeared on Kenneth's face. "Her name's Janet Wilde. She's…"

Kenneth stopped short, evidently at a loss for words and regretful that he had even brought Janet up. Linda hid her surprise, but was curious as to why Kenneth, who just moments before seemed so laidback, would suddenly shy-down at the thought of the girl who had supposedly encouraged him to give up hustling. Kenneth picked the Polar Mechanics magazine back up and did not say another word for the rest of the wait.


	3. Chapter 3

**I know I keep forgetting to mention this, but I do not own** ** _Zootopia._**

* * *

Though it was only a quarter after eight in the morning, it was obvious that it was going to be a hot day in Bunnyburrow. Linda and the other passengers were standing on the tarmac beside their plane, waiting for the boarding call. The plane was an Arboreal AC-3, a tail-dragger which could seat up to 21 small to medium sized mammals. Typical of most airline liveries of the time, the AC-3's Aero Metro color scheme left most of the craft in its original bare metal exterior. The lightning bolt-style cheat line, which flanked the fuselage, was in Aero Metro's traditional navy blue with yellow trim. The airline logo, which cleverly combined the letters A and M into a stylized arrowhead, was positioned at the end of the fuselage just before the tail. The airframe's name, _Metropolis Jackpot_ , appeared in small blue and yellow letters beneath the side windows of the cockpit. Linda was very familiar with the AC-3 as it was the world's most prolific airliner and her usual work environment. She peered into the open entryway to try and catch a glimpse of the stewardess who would be serving this flight. But she was apparently still getting things ready in the unseen galley.

Linda had counted 20 other mammals so, including herself, this flight would be carrying a full complement of passengers. This was rather unusual, especially on flights from less developed areas. She assumed that the large assortment of travelers were mostly business mammals, and perhaps even some reporters, returning from the large farm convention which had been held in town over the weekend. Accompanying the passengers on the tarmac was a group of well-wishers, who had come to say their goodbyes and snap photographs. There was only one other bunny in the group. His wife and a few dozen small children gathered around him, bidding their goodbyes and making their souvenir requests. An adult hog was having a lively chat with a bear and a raccoon was getting his picture taken next to the plane with his family. The only passengers Linda recognized were the Slothmores and their butler, Hugo Manchas.

Herbert and Ingrid Slothmore were a wealthy couple who frequented Bunnyburrow because they owned a summer ranch there. Herbert was wearing a dark grey, double breasted drape suit and pants, a white collared shirt, a red necktie, and a light grey fedora. Ingrid was wearing a red dress and a black wool tilt hat with a veil covering her face. She also wore elbow length, black satin gloves which left her claws exposed. Mr. Manchas wore a black business suit with a red rose fastened in his jacket pocket.

As usual, the Slothmores were sitting in a double seat carrier held by Manchas. Herbert, with his tired looking, nonchalant smile, was slowly typing on his portable typewriter. Ingrid was staring off into space with a rather peeved expression.

At last, one of the ground crewmammals opened the gate leading to the plane.

"Ok, everyone line up according to the seat numbers printed on your ticket stubs and file onto the plane in an orderly manner."

Linda had already memorized that her seat was number 8 and positioned herself so that she would be eighth in line. It took a few moments, but all the passengers soon organized themselves into a single file line according to their seat numbers. Linda hadn't given much thought to Kenneth since their brief conversation in the waiting room. She immediately remembered him when she realized that the animal standing in front of her, and who would be sitting beside her in seat 7, was none other than Kenneth Reynard himself. Kenneth shot a quick glance behind him when he realized that the bunny he had spoken with earlier would be sharing his row, and smiled once he got over his initial surprise. Although she no longer felt so nervous around the fox, Linda still would have preferred to leave their first encounter as their _only_ encounter. But she would not complain and try to make the most out of this flight.

A young otter stewardess appeared at the entryway. Her uniform consisted in a navy blue blouse with large, yellow lapels and an elegantly tied blue and yellow scarf. Her short skirt matched the color of her shirt and her blue and yellow flat cap was tilted to the right. She was holding a clipboard and giving the classic exaggerated smile of airline stewardesses. The line of passengers approached the plane as neatly as a militia on patrol, and the stewardess braced herself for yet another hour of strenuous airline service.

Candace Riverwater had been with Aero Metro for a month and a half and was already feeling overwhelmed by near the constant air travel demanded from a novice stewardess. She had grown up by the Docks, a slummy harbor district in the outskirts of Zootopia, where her parents owned a small shrimp mart. Wishing for more than a life of catching shrimp and repairing old nets, she aspired to be a flying boat stewardess. At the time, Aero Metro used its small fleet of Jumboeing 314 flying boats to take wealthy holidaymakers on a 15 hour flight down to various tropical vacation destinations in the southern oceans. Unlike other aircraft, the flying boats boasted many of the luxuries found on ocean liners and were very spacious and comfortable. The Jumboeings took off and landed not far from where she lived, and her some of her fondest memories were spending lazy weekend afternoons by the lakeside, watching the planes though binoculars. Unfortunately, just as Candace was getting ready to graduate high school, Aero Metro cancelled all services to the southern oceans because it was losing business to the rapidly growing cruise ship industry. It redesigned all its flying boats to seat more passengers and transferred the once prestigious aircraft to lackluster and monotonous transcontinental routes. Refusing to be discouraged, Candace nevertheless entered stewardess training and later found herself paying her dues with domestic flights out of Zootopia for her chance at finally serving on a Jumboeing.

Mr. Manchas climbed the stairway and handed Candace three boarding passes.

Candace quickly authenticated the passes and marked off the names on the manifest. "Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. Slothmore. And you too, Mr. Manchas."

Herbert slowly looked up from his typewriter. "Thank...you."

Ingrid's originally sour face turned into a smile as she sluggishly rotated her head to acknowledge Candace.

Mr. Manchas nodded cordially before taking back the passes and making the uphill climb into the cabin of the tail-dragger plane. Next to appear at the entrance were Alice and Robert Whinnie, the zebra mother and child. Alice was wearing a purple shirtwaist dress and a red, felt hat with a rounded crown. Robert had brown, round glasses and was wearing a casual, green t-shirt and blue jeans.

As he handed Candace his pass, "Bobby" asked, "Hey, do you know what kind of plane this is?"

Candace nodded as she checked his pass and marked Bobby's name on the manifest. "Yes, it's an AC-3."

Alice, who was holding Bobby's hoof, gave him a little squeeze as a signal to let him know that he needed to leave Candace to do her work.

Bobby apparently did not get the message. "Did you know that this plane can fly up to 23,000 feet?"

Candace chuckled as she verified Alice's pass. "I actually did not know that."

Alice sighed and flashed a reproaching frown at Bobby. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Bobby can be quite a chatterbox and forget his manners."

"It's absolutely fine, ma'am," Candace reassured as she checked Alice's pass and marked off her name. Turning to Bobby, Candace asked, "So, do want to join the airline industry?"

Bobby nodded enthusiastically. "Yea! They'll have jets by the time I become a pilot, and I'm gonna fly 'em!"

"Well, I'll be looking forward to serving with your flights." Candace said as the Whinnies walked up into the cabin. Candace turned her attention back to the doorway and was greeted by the an otter, who's eyes grew to be as wide as china plates as he studied her. He was wearing a white collared shirt with a black necktie, a yellow button up vest with diamond patterns, and black trousers. Candace was used to being the object of young male passenger's fantasies, but the feeling of uneasiness never left her, despite assurances by her more experienced colleagues. Retaining her professionalism, she smiled and reached out to accept the passenger's boarding pass, which he was holding with his right paw. But the passenger didn't let go of his pass and he furtively touched Candace's paw with his own left paw.

Grinning dreamily, he cooed, "Well I'll be, Doll. I reckon I wasn't fortunate enough to have traveled to this town on the flight you were on."

Barley managing to retain the confidence expected of a stewardess, Candace casually replied, "I must have serving the down bound flight when you flew here, sir."

"Oh, please, call me Dominic," The otter said as Candace finally managed to pull away his boarding pass. "Or you can call me whatever you happen to like. Sir...Dom...why my friends used to call me Dommie."

Candace quickly checked Dominic in and stepped aside, pleasantly yet rather emphatically, inviting him inside. Dominic chuckled as he passed, "Well, I hope we can talk more once we get into the air, or later on at Howard-Moore, if you can get a break."

"We will see about that." Candace replied, doing her best to keep the doubt out of her voice. Kenneth was next to come to the door. He coolly smiled at Candace's almost gleeful stewardess greeting and walked in without saying a word after being checked in. Linda was next to board. She glanced at the nametag pinned to Candace's blouse and recognized her as one of the new stewardesses she had yet to meet. Candace also recognized Linda's name from her pass.

"Are you Linda Carrotfield, who works for the airline?" Candace asked.

Linda nodded, "I've been waiting to meet you, Candace. Gina has told me all about you and that you hope to serve on the overseas flights one day." Gina had been one of Linda's instructors during her training.

"You know Gina?" Candace's smile brightened at the mention of the kind, encouraging polar bear. "Oh, isn't she the best? She was the one who gave me my certificate."

"Mine, too!"

"So, I hear that you're on vacation?"

"Oh, yes. I finally have the hours for some decent vacation time. What better place to spend the week other than in the greatest city in the world?"

Candace finished checking Linda in. "Well, I still plenty of time before I can even start thinking about taking time off. Enjoy your flight!"

The next animal to board was a fennec fox wearing a brown trench coat and fedora, but he was much smaller than most adult members of his species. Candace naturally assumed this passenger was a small child pretending to be a detective.

"Oh, aren't you just the cutest little guy! Are you pretending to be a privet eye?"

Candace took her eyes off the little fox for just a moment as she checked his boarding pass with the name "Arnold Cain" printed onto the attached ticket. She was in for quite a shock when she turned her head and saw the "child" light a cigar and hiss in a low, grating voice, "You call me cute again, and I'll bite your face off!"

The apparently _adult_ fox made his way up the cabin without taking back his pass or saying another word. Beneath her brown fur, Candace turned several shades of red.

"The…no…smoking sign…is…on."

The cabin in this particular AC-3 was a three across layout with two seats on the left of the narrow aisle and one on the right. Seat 8 was the aisle seat three rows down from the first row. Kenneth had already settled into the adjacent seat and watched with a small smile as Linda prepared to heave her travel pack up into the overhead rack.

"Would you like me to help with that?" Kenneth asked civilly.

"No," Linda flatly replied. She was not comfortable just handing a fox her belongings.

Once her pack was in place, she plopped down in her seat and buckled up. Kenneth let out a deep sigh as he carelessly stretched across his seat.

Apparently interested in starting another conversation, Kenneth commented, "You know, you don't need to have your seatbelt fastened, yet."

Linda straightened her herself and coolly replied, "Well, it's a good habit to get into."

Kenneth seemed to have gotten over whatever had dampened his mood before. He put both paws behind his head and slouched. "So, is this your first flight as a passenger?"

"Well, aside from hitching rides on ferry flights, I suppose so."

Kenneth chuckled at the term. "What are ferry flights?"

Linda chuckled herself when she stopped to think about the silliness of the term. "It's when a plane is flown without passengers. We usually do that when we need to bring a plane in for maintenance, or just to move it to wherever it needs to be for the next day's schedule."

Linda noticed out of the corner of her eye that, on other side of the aisle, a small fennec fox was attempting to haul his suitecase up into the overhead rack. Even while standing on the top of his seat, Arnold clearly wasn't able to reach. Seeing that Candace was still handling boarding passengers, Linda took it upon herself to offer assistance.

"Would you like some help, sir?" Despite his childish size, Linda could tell that Arnold was an adult by his grunting and the fact that he had a cigar.

"No, I got it!" Arnold chided through his teeth.

Regardless of Arnold's brush off, Linda felt obligated to help him out. Arnold detected Linda's approach, and without turning his attention away from his suitcase, muttered, "I said I got it."

Linda ignored him and gave the suitecase the boost it needed to slide up into the rack. Arnold shot an annoyed glare back at Linda and jumped down into his seat. With a sigh, Linda returned to her own seat. Even when on vacation, she could not escape cantankerous passengers.

"Thanks," came the unexpected, albeit begrudging acknowledgment from Arnold.

Linda turned back with a look of surprise, and then gave a thankful smiled. "You're very welcome, sir."

As Linda buckled herself back into her seat, she had an unexpected feeling of satisfaction. While she had assisted predatory passengers countless times before, she had done so out of duty and never purely out of the goodness of her own heart.

Beside her, Kenneth chuckled. "You know, I really don't think you're quite as distant as you've been passing yourself off to be."

Feigning shock, Linda retorted, "Well…um…I don't know what you mean."

Kenneth shifted closer to Linda. "You know what I mean. You've been playing the 'Cultural-Bunny-Who-Shuns-Foxes' since I met you. Yet out of the blue, you go out of your way to help out Little Johnny over there."

Linda shifted uncomfortably. "I was simply showing some common decency."

Kenneth turned his gaze forward. "I think you're a lot nicer than what you pretend to be. That's what a like about you."

Linda's nose twitched. This was going to be a long flight.

* * *

Candace had just admitted the last passenger when the flight's captain, a 55 year old white wolf named Leland Timbers, came aboard having finished the preflight inspection. Leland was wearing his pilot uniform, which consisted of a white collared shirt, a black necktie, and a blue, double breasted jacket with six gold buttons and four gold bands at the end of the sleeves. His traditional style pilot hat had the Aero Metro insignia on it and his pants matched the color of his jacket.

After one look in the cabin, Captain Timbers remarked, "It's like Aero Metro has decided to give away tickets for free today or something. I can't remember the last time we've had a full complement on this leg."

Candace wrote a few extra notes on her clipboard. "Well, they just had a huge farm convention."

A service mammal began hauling up the boarding ramp, which doubled as the door, and Leland pulled it up the rest of the way. The old wolf made his way up through the cabin, dutifully returning the salutations of the passengers who offered them. In the flight deck a lanky cheetah named Roy Clawhauser, dressed in the same uniform as his superior officer, was sipping a small cup of coffee while enjoying the warm rays beaming through the windshield. The aging Leland entered the rather claustrophobic cockpit and painfully got into his seat.

Roy set his cup down on the dashboard. "So how's the number two?" He asked, referring to engine two.

Leland groaned as he buckled himself in. When he was comfortable, he replied, "The foreman told me that the fixes are in place, but it's on its last legs and it might completely fail on us within the next month. So we'll need to have it overhauled as soon as possible."

Roy took another sip of coffee. "We've been having such a hassle with that engine for a while now. I don't get why we haven't overhauled it already."

The venerable Leland had an answer for that. "It's about money, Roy. It would take about 16 hours to get an engine overhauled and during that time, we'd lose thousands of dollars. Aero Metro doesn't monopolize the airways anymore. Debon Air and Wanderlust have really grown these past few years and have been nipping at our heels. Our new owners just can't seem to be able to put much distance from them competition-wise and frankly, we can't afford _any_ of our planes to be grounded at this rate."

Roy scratched an itch on the back of his head. "Any updates with the weather?"

Before answering Roy, Leland returned a thumbs up from the head of the ground crew and flipped the beacon switch on the overhead panel as a warning to everyone outside that the engines are about to be started. "A minor squall is still expected to hit Howard-Moore, though we should be able to land just before it arrives if we keep schedule."

Roy stared ahead into space and dryly muttered, "As long the number two holds out."


	4. Chapter 4

Herbert Slothmore was typing away at his machine. He'd been working on this article since about 6 o'clock that morning and had just finished the first page. A grin crept across his sleepy face as he leisurely pulled the page out of the typewriter.

"I...have...a good...feeling...about...these...next...few days...Ingrid. I...think...we may...just...have...the first...prototype...ready...in time...for...the...seminar...on...Thursday."

The prototype Herbert referred to was an innovative TV set which would, in theory, make television available to the middle class. He was already the wealthy owner of Slothmore Cinema, a film projector manufacturer. Television was a recent invention which, despite its current crudeness and simplicity, was affordable only to the rich. Many critics scoffed at the concept of television, arguing that it would fail as no one would have the time to sit around and watch moving pictures all day. Yet Herbert saw the future of home entertainment in television, and had invested a great deal of time and money in the development of a TV set that would be both viable and affordable. But setbacks, flops, and general lack of outside interest had taken their toll on Herbert's efforts. Now his company was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy and his only hope for financial recovery was the success of his latest prototype. Despite Herbert's confidence, Ingrid was not nearly so optimistic. She was beginning to doze when Herbert announced his enthusiasm for his new prototype.

"Personally...Herb...I lack...your...self...assurance...in...the matter."

Ingrid never failed to give her negative opinions regarding Herbert's dream. She wasn't an unpleasant person at heart. She was just annoyed at Herbert's exorbitant spending on a machine which she didn't even believe was practical. Ingrid turned to face Herbert as quickly as a sloth could.

"Why...do you...feel...the need...to...risk...financial...ruin...on...a...thoroughly...impractical...utterly...useless...and...preposterous...box?"

Herbert always had the same answer to that question. "It's...not...impractical. I...believe...that...within...the next...ten...years...television...will be...the...most...prominent...medium...of...household...entertainment. It may...even...bring...about...the...obsolescence...of...the movie...theater.

Ingrid snorted. "Has...it...ever...occurred...to you...that...it's also...my...money...you're...throwing...away?"

Herbert slowly produced a sly grin. "Your...money? It's... _my..._ company...and I...will...spend... _my.._.money...any...way...I wish."

Ingrid scowled in a way that only a sloth could. "It... _is.._.also...my...company! What's...yours...is...mine. We...agreed...to that...when...we...made...our wedding...vows...remember?"

An affectionate sigh crawled out of Herbert's mouth. "Yes...I...remember...making...our vows."

Ingrid turned her head to look out her window. "When I...married...you...I...thought...I was...marrying...a...sloth...of...good...taste...and...sensiblilty. But...I see...now...that...you're just...a...reckless...spendthrift...who's going...to...get...himself...bankrupt. Well...let me...tell...you...right...now...that I'm...not...going...to join...you...on your...little...Happytown...street...corner...when that...comes...to pass. I'm...seriously...thinking...of getting...a...divorce...now...while...you still...have...money!"

Herbert was not at all discouraged by Ingrid's criticisms and threats. He slowly leaned over to give her an affectionate embrace. "Oh...Ingrid. You...don't...really...mean...any...of that."

Ingrid sluggishly shifted away. "Oh...I do...mean...it...Herb. Get...off...me!"

In the row behind the Slothmores, Bobby had been listening intently on the couple's conversation and ventured a respectable question to his mother.

"Mom, how is it that sloths aren't extinct?"

Appalled, Alice gave Bobby a slap on the hoof.

* * *

After receiving a call from Leland to begin the cabin briefing, Candace grabbed a deflated life jacket and walked to the head of the aisle. She loudly cleared her throat to gain the attention of the passengers, and the light chatter within the cabin slowly ceased.

"Welcome aboard, everyone! I'm Candace Riverwater and I will be serving you on this flight. Before we take off, we ask that you kindly observe the following instructions."

Preflight briefings were a fairly new requirement which had been made mandatory following a recent aviation accident. Linda had every guideline memorized and had done dozens of such briefings herself. Still, she respectfully gave Candace her full attention.

Candace confidently continued, "In case of an emergency, the main exit way is located at the rear, where you just entered."

"Well, duh," mocked a voice. Linda's sharp ears picked up the heckler toward the rear of the plane.

A piece of Candace's self-assurance was lost over that careless remark. Sighing nervously, she continued. "Additionally, there are two emergency exits, which double as windows, beside seats ten and twelve. To open them, simply remove the protective covering over the latches and twist the handles a half turn to the right. These instructions are labeled on the latch covers."

"Then why jah just tells us how to work 'em, screwball?" The jesting voice asked.

This time, Linda was able to turn quickly enough to catch the heckler. It was a woodchuck sitting in seat 19, which was on the right side of the second to last row. It was one thing if it was Linda herself being jeered at. In those cases, she would just dismiss the taunting or harassment and carry on with her duties. But she had zero tolerance for anyone who mocked a fellow stewardess.

Candace was really starting to become uneasy. "In the event of a crash landing, assume the brace position which is done like this." Having no seat for a proper demonstration, she crouched into a sitting position, hung her head, and braced her ankles.

The woodchuck produced a loud, shrill wolf-whistle. "Strip yourself and TORQUE it!"

Linda had enough. She unbuckled herself and stuck her head above back of her seat. "What is your problem!? Candace is sharing information that may well end up saving your life, so shut up and stop being an idiot!"

There was a moment of bewildered silence as Linda drew the attention of everyone in the cabin. She hardly cared. If anything, it actually felt good to be able to scold a contemptuous passenger for once. The woodchuck was the most wide eyed of the passengers. After three seconds, he grumbled to himself and looked out of his window like a reprimanded child. Linda sat back in her seat and glanced at Kenneth, who looked quite pleased.

Candace collected herself somewhat, but now spoke with a slight shake in her voice. "In the event of a water landing, beneath your seats are inflatable life jackets." Candace held up her own jacket to demonstrate.

"You put them on just like coat." Candace paused for a moment, apparently waiting for more mockery. When none came, she continued. "Now, you wrap the straps around yourself and clip them on like this. Finally, you inflate them by blowing into this little hose."

Candace began blowing into the little rubber hose, but the jacket wasn't getting any bigger. Candace tried again, but with no results.

"Whoever supplies this aircraft its life saving equipment certainly is an obliging fellow." A snobbish, Mid-Atlantic accented voice stated sarcastically. It didn't come from the rear of the plane, but the row directly behind Linda and Kenneth. Linda was getting ready to shoot back up from her seat when Candace discovered the problem.

"Oh, I forgot to remove the cap on the hose." She announced sheepishly. Even in that moment of feeling complete sympathy for the poor otter, Linda could hardly believe that Candace would overlook something as obvious as opening the lid on the blow hose. She reckoned that the mockery Candace had received distracted her.

Upon finishing her demonstration of how to properly inflate and use the lifejackets, Candace wrapped her briefing in a dejected manner which was only exaggerated by her forced cheerfulness. "Thank you for your attention and we at Aero Metro wish to assure you that your comfort and safety is our top priority. We hope you enjoy flying with us."

Candace walked at a quick and flustered pace back down to the galley. Linda felt terrible for Candace and considered heading down to the galley to offer consonance. Then the plane's right engine suddenly roared to life and was followed by the left engine. The seatbelt sign came on and the plane rolled down the taxiway to the runway. Linda found it strange sitting in the passenger cabin on a moving plane and not in the jump seat back down in the galley. Kenneth stared blankly out his window, watching the spinning propeller blades of the left engine.

"Kenneth, your seatbelt needs to be on now," Linda warned.

Kenneth snapped out of his trance. "Oh, thanks." He quickly straitened and buckled up.

* * *

Leland stopped the plane at the foot of the runway and pushed the channel button on his receiver. "Bunnyburrow Tower, Aero Metro 45 to Howard-Moore is at runway 7, ready for takeoff."

"Aero Metro 45, you are cleared take off. Turn right heading 245, climb and maintain flight level 3,000, caution the piper cub in holding pattern at your 4 o'clock."

"Cleared for takeoff, turn right heading 245, climb and maintain flight level 3,000, caution the piper at our 4 o'clock. Aero Metro 45, thank you." Leland set the receiver aside and he and Roy spooled up the throttle.

The AC-3 gradually picked up speed, causing the cabin to shudder even more. Linda noticed that Kenneth seemed to be quite nervous about the takeoff experience. He stared fixedly ahead with wide eyes and was tightly clutching the ends of his arm rests. Linda grinned with amusement. She was so used to take offs, they had all but lost their novelty and had become a part of her work life. When they reached 60 miles per hour, the plane's tail rose off the ground until the craft was completely level. Then, with a slight tug on their control columns, the pilots brought the plane into the air.

"Rate is positive," Leland announced after confirming a positive rate of climb. "Gear up."

Following orders, Roy pulled up on the bar between their seats, which controlled the landing gear. As the plane climbed above 500 feet, Roy also retracted the flaps at Leland's command and decreased the throttle.

"After takeoff checklist," Leyland dryly requested as he positioned the plane in a 9 degree angle on a 245 degree heading. Roy pulled out a clipboard with the instructions.

"Gear up?" Roy asked in an equally dry tone.

"Gear up" Leyland confirmed.

"Flaps up?"

"Flaps up."

"Engines set to climb power?"

"Engines set to climb power."

"Tail wheel locked?"

"Tail wheel locked."

"Auto mixture at 70%?"

"Auto mixture at 70%."

"No smoking sign off?"

"No smoking sign off."

Roy set the clip board aside. "After takeoff check list complete."

Leland and Roy simultaneously checked the readings on their instruments and concurred that the right engine seemed to be holding out. It was then that the ADF picked up the signal from the EHO VOR.

The current method of navigation on aircraft was the Automatic Direction Finder, or ADF. The device picked up radio signals from VOR stations on the ground and the pilots simply needed to home in on those signals to navigate their way to a particular destination. Leland turned the dial on his ADF until the arrow was centered on heading 243. Leland had not yet received permission to follow the VOR transmission, and thus continued on his preset heading of 245.

Roy glanced at Leland. "Hey, I was just wondering, a pilot of your seniority should be flying the intercontinental flights. How come you're on the Bunnyburrow route?"

Without taking his eyes of the windshield in front of him, Leland smiled. "I prefer to stay closer to home. My wife and I weren't able to have kids, so all we've got is each other. The pay is no different and I rather enjoy flying the AC-3."

Roy playfully shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't mind taking the long hauls. You know that Jumboeing and de Hayvilland have announced that should have their first commercial jet within the next ten years?" Roy's smile widened. "I'd love to fly one of those things. Can you imagine flying twice as high and fast as the crate we're in now?"

Leland gave a grandfatherish chuckle. "Well, I'll be retired by then. But my wife and I may fly by jet when we go on our yearly holidays."

Leland leveled off at 3,000 feet and grabbed his receiver. "Bunnyburrow Tower, Aero Metro 45 at flight level 3,000. Request permission to climb to 10,000 and transition to VOR flight plan."

"Aero Metro 45, cleared to 10,000, follow VOR. Have a nice flight."

"Up to 10,000, follow VOR, Aero Metro 45. Thank you."

As Leland turned to follow the ADF and began the climb to their cruising altitude, Roy said, "You know, another thing's just occurred to me. Your 55 so you were born in 1890, right?"

"Well...right." Leland replied, wondering where Roy was going with this.

"So that would mean that, when you were born, planes wouldn't be invented for 13 years. Not only that, but the internal combustion engine had only been around for 4 years and cars wouldn't be mass produced for another 11 years. What I'm saying is that, if you think about, it's amazing how much the world can change in an animal's lifetime. We're already testing rockets and flying experimental jets, and sometimes I wonder if I may even get the chance to fly in outer space before I retire."

Leland understood Roy's point and began to reflect on his own career. The first plane he flew was a biplane, which had basically been a motorized wooden frame covered in fabric. Now, at the twilight of his career, he was flying a modern airliner with electricity, a pressurized cabin, and a lavatory with running water.

Leland smiled. "Yeah, Roy, progress is amazing."

Roy always enjoyed talking about new technologies and ideas. "Hey, I also read in this month's Polar Mechanics that they've begun researching atomic energy. You the Climate Wall that was proposed a few years ago?"

Leland nodded.

"Well, the biggest issue with that concept is energy. Fossil fuels are inefficient and hydropower is too impractical. But atomic power, if scientists can crack it, would be more than enough to not only run the Climate Wall, but also to power the rest of the city!"

The pilots continued their conversation about technological progress and what they might see and participate in during their lifetimes for the rest of the assent. Neither of them noticed the power gauge for the right engine take a slight dip, and then bounce back up again.

* * *

The plane leveled off at 10,000 feet and Kenneth wasted no time unbuckling and slouching into a more comfortable position when the seatbelt sign turned off. The plane's engines powered down as it reached its cruising speed, much to the relief of the passengers. Linda glanced down the aisle and caught sight of Candace with the food trolley, beginning to serve breakfast. Due to the high ticket prices, meal service and alcohol on aircraft were complimentary. Even over the droning of the engines, Kenneth's stomach managed to produce a growl loud enough for Linda to hear. Kenneth sat up and peered over his seat.

He plopped back down and asked, "Do you guys serve the same stuff on every flight?"

Linda replied, "Pretty much, but it also depends on the season. You should be given the same options you received on your last flight."

"And what can I get for you, sir?" Linda heard Candace say with a genuinely cheery voice to a passenger in the rearmost row.

She assumed that Candace had managed to get over her former mortification. That was a positive sign regarding Candace's future with the airline. A stewardess needs to be able to quickly suppress feelings of embarrassment or stupidity.

Linda was still slightly concerned about anymore wry comments from the woodchuck in seat 19. She couldn't help but feel pleased with herself when Candace gave him his order without incident. By the time Candace reached seat 11, occupied raccoon in a beige two piece suit, red bow tie, and a straw boater, she had fully reanimated her stewardess personae. "And what can I get for you, sir?"

The raccoon, whose name was Eliot Coon, turned away from the newspaper he was reading. "Oh, um, just a coffee, please. Cream and two sugars."

Candace served Eliot, and then looked over at the ram sitting beside him. "And for you?"

The ram, named John Bellwether, was still scribbling on his note pad and didn't seem to notice Candace. He was wearing a dark blue two piece suit, black necktie, and a dark blue homburg.

In her most pleasant voice, Candace pressed, "Um, sir? Would you like anything?"

John finally stopped his furious writing and turned to face Candace, wearing the most supercilious expression. "Yes, my dear. I would like for you to kindly observe that you are disturbing me from my writing."

Candace's rekindled confidence dimmed. "Oh, I didn't realize, sir. I beg your pardon. But would you like something to eat or drink while you work?"

John closed his notepad and stuck his pen into his jacket pocket. "Well, now that you have sabotaged train of thought, I may as well. I want a cup of chamomile tea with honey and a strawberry danish.

Candace, guessing this was the sort of passenger who would never take no for an answer, regretfully replied. "I'm sorry, but we don't have strawberry danishes. We do have cherry, lemon, and apple, though."

John raised a pompous eyebrow. "There were strawberry danishes on the flight I took to Bunnyburrow."

Candace uneasily shifted her feet. "Well, I suppose there was a mix up while the plane was being stocked. I'm terribly sorry, sir."

"As the stewardess of this flight, is it not your prime duty to insure that the galley is fully stocked and that all baked goods are accounted for?"

Candace tried in vain to remain cheerful. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, sir. I tried to make sure we had everything. It's been a very busy day and I suppose I made a slight oversight."

John sighed as he turned to face forward. "Well, I can't say that I'm surprised, given the level of ineptitude you demonstrated during your briefing."

John was about to return to his work when Linda again popped her head over her seat.

"You know, as eloquent and proper sounding as you are, you don't seem to have much decency! Give her a break, she's been nothing but kind to you!"

John did not even flinch at Linda's outburst. "Either you have been raised in an incredibly rustic community, where good manners are unknown, or you suffer from the common feminine delusion that the mere fact of being a _girl_ exempts you from all civilized conduct."

While the flabbergasted Linda searched for a response, Kenneth could hardly control his giggling. He couldn't quite hear Linda's reply over his own laughter, but whatever she said at least convinced the imperious ram to order something else. An exhausted looking Linda plopped back into her seat. Finally collecting himself, Kenneth asked, "I'm getting the feeling that you are taking full advantage just being a passenger who can say whatever she wants."

In a hushed voice, Linda replied. "Well, I suppose you can say that. I can't tell you how many times I wish I could speak my mind around ornery passengers as a stewardess.

After serving the hog in seat 12, Candace pushed the trolley up to Linda's row. "So, what will it be for you?"

With an encouraging smile, Linda requested, "A cinnamon roll and a cup of chai tea, please."

Candace's own smile began to renew its enthusiasm as she pulled out the requested treat and prepared the tea. As she served Linda, her exaggerated smile turned into one of sincere gratitude. "Thank you, Linda, for sticking up for me."

Linda nodded appreciatively. "You're welcome. I just can't stand it when passengers vent on the stewardesses."

Candace asked Kenneth, "And what about you, sir?"

Kenneth requested, "A coffee, two sugars, and a blueberry muffin." Candace gave Kenneth his order and proceeded to serve the rest of the passengers.

After taking a bite into his muffin, Kenneth noted Linda's chia tea. "So, you like chai tea? So does Janet."

Linda carefully sipped her steaming beverage. Were all foxes this prying?

She decided to turn things around on Kenneth. "You know, you haven't explained much about this... _Janet_. What's she like?"

A loving expression appeared on Kenneth's face. While he appeared hesitant to talk about her earlier, Kenneth obviously could not keep Janet out of mind for long.

"Linda, Janet is the most gorgeous vixen on the face of this earth. She's a real doll, and she doesn't mind at all when I call her one!"

Linda's curiosity spiked as she took a bite of her cinnamon roll. "So, how did you first meet?" She asked after politely waiting until after she swallowed.

Kenneth got comfortable in his seat, apparently preparing to tell a long and involved story. "Well, Doll Face, it was about a year ago in Happytown…"

Linda gave up an amused smile, despite being called "Doll Face." Where else other then in Happytown could a love story involving two foxes begin?

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **In 1939, The New York Times predicted that television would fail. They claimed that no one had the time to just sit around and stare at a screen.**


	5. Chapter 5

_Happytown, 1944_

While carrying his cue stick case, Kenneth briskly entered The Twisted Udder, momentarily drawing the attention of the patrons with the sound of the cow bell placed above the entrance. That day, he was wearing a brown flannel suit, tie, and pants along with a white undershirt. As always, he was wearing his favorite newsboy cap. Nothing of real interest was happening at the local pool hall, so Kenneth decided to grab a quick bite to eat with the 10 bucks he'd sharked. The scent of baking pastries and brewing coffee always made Kenneth smile, and the lively ragtime music playing from the jukebox put an extra spring in his step. The Twisted Udder wasn't a large restaurant and it certainly wasn't the most refined, but it was the best that Happytown had to offer. Kenneth scanned the room for an empty table. Suddenly, his gaze was pulled in the direction of the corner booth like a magnet to brick of pig iron. His eyes widened and his already bright smile expanded. Sitting alone at the table was the most gorgeous vixen he had ever been privileged to see. She sat quietly by herself, reading a fashion magazine. She was dressed in a red, button up shirt with padded shoulders, a black skirt, and a black, tilted floral cartwheel hat. Kenneth wasted no time making his way over to his object of interest.

Setting his case on the floor, he casually leaned beside the seat across the vixen. "Is this seat taken?"

The vixen lowered her magazine, revealing her half open, amber eyes.

"I suppose it is now." The vixen said in a low, almost purring voice.

Kenneth hopped into the seat and straightened his tie. For a moment, the vixen appeared uninterested in Kenneth as she returned to her reading.

He was about to attempt to coax a conversation himself when the vixen spoke again. "So, what's your business for taking that seat?"

Kenneth could not avoid chuckling. "I just need a place to sit down," he replied, trying to mimic the vixen's naturally seductive voice.

The dame finally put the magazine down, revealing her entire face. Never in Kenneth's wildest fantasies had he ever conjured such a beautiful sight. With her seductive, half shut eyes, she surveyed the other tables.

Wearing her same femme fatal expression, but with a raised eyebrow, she purred, "There are other tables available."

Kenneth slouched into a more comfortable position, "Well, that maybe so. But there aren't any other tables with dolls."

He deliberately asked that just to see her reaction. He wanted to see if this vixen would appreciate, or at least tolerate, his roguish personality. He braced himself, realizing if that if this girl was not compatible with him, he'd likely either get slapped or pepper sprayed for his audacity. But to his pleasant surprise, the vixen wasn't obviously offended.

The vixen finally introduced herself. "I'm Janet Wilde."

"Kenneth Reynard, it's a pleasure," Kenneth said as he to a closer look at the cover of the magazine Janet was holding. It was an _I'm Happy_ _Magazine_ , the local fashion publication which exclusively used predator models. He couldn't believe that he didn't notice before, but the cover model looked exactly like Janet. She was in a night club setting, wearing a long, white evening with an exposed back while sporting an elegant cigarette holder between her fingers.

"Is that you on the cover?" He asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yes, but why do you act surprised so surprised? Is there something wrong with my being on the cover?" Despite the way she worded her reply, Janet did not appear offended by Kenneth's disbelief and retained her bedroom eyes.

Nevertheless, Kenneth was abashed. "I didn't mean it like that, Janet. What I meant was that a dame like you ought to be working for _Dogue_."

Janet smirked ruefully. "I'm afraid _Douge's_ out of my playing field. There is no way they will hire fox models."

He leaned forward. "Well I think that's outrageous. I mean, everyone knows animals get those magazines so they can tear of the covers and stick them under their pillows. I'll bet they'd double their sales with _you_ on the cover."

For a moment, Kenneth expected to get a huge smack across his cheek. But Janet just looked at him with the same, bedroom eyed face, albeit with a slightly wider smile.

" _Dogue_ is lady's magazine," Janet said.

"Yeah, that's why guys buy it."

By that time Kenneth was positive that this girl was his perfect match. But he had to make sure that she wasn't already taken. Janet went back to her reading and Kenneth took the opportunity to check for a wedding ring. His hopeful face brightened when he saw nothing on her slender fingers.

"Hey, um, are you one of those types of gals who just don't wear their wedding band?"

Janet giggled and returned her attention Kenneth. "Are you asking if I'm married?"

Kenneth playfully shrugged.

Janet answered, "No, I am not." She put the magazine down again and decided to play along. "What about you?"

Kenneth smiled proudly as he retrieved his beloved cue stick from its case. He had been waiting for an opportunity to shift the topic of conversation to his profession.

"In a way, I suppose." He screwed the two halves of the stick together and held it out for Janet to inspect. "This is both my angel and bread and butter. I got her for 5 bucks at the sport shop uptown 15 years ago and I haven't been without her since." He held the stick up and pretended to shoot a cue ball. "I dare say she's won me over 50 grand."

Janet's lazy smile suddenly darkened, much to Kenneth's surprise. "You're a pool shark, aren't you?"

Kenneth put on an innocent look. "Well, I suppose you can say that. But what's the problem?"

Janet maintained her dark smile. "The problem is that hustling is just an enlightened form of theft."

"Hustling is not stealing," Kenneth asserted.

"What's the difference?" Janet leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms.

"Stealing is taking somebody's wallet and walking out of the building. Hustling is when you…." Kenneth tried to think of a valid and acceptable example. "…. _win_ somebody's wallet and walk out of the building. Besides, I only hustle professionals who have no idea what to do with their money, anyway."

"So you steal from the rich and give to yourself."

Kenneth was not going to lose his perfect vixen over a poor choice of words. "Doll, I don't steal," he insisted with as much sincerity her could muster.

Unknown to Kenneth and Janet, two cow waitresses had been eagerly eavesdropping on their conversation from behind the divider wall beside their booth. It took all the teenaged cows will to refrain from giggling at the unfolding soap opera. The waitresses immediately snapped back into protocol when they finally noticed their sour faced supervisor looming over them. One retreated into the kitchen to grab a long overdue order and the other nervously pulled out her note book and pencil to wait on the foxes.

"Hello, I'm Bethany. Um, have you decided you're your order, yet?" Kenneth and Janet both wondered why the cow seemed so nervous. They both deduced that it was probably her first day on the job.

Janet straightened. "Yes, I'll have the vegetable soup, extra mushrooms, with chai tea."

Bethany scribbled down the order.

"And you?" She asked Kenneth.

"A coffee, cream and two sugars, and two glazed donuts, please," Kenneth requested.

When Bethany left, Janet returned to her magazine. There weren't many times that Kenneth's confidence shrunk, but this was one of them. For a moment, he had thought Janet would be his soul mate. The girl who would fill the gap in a little area called "Love Life." Kenneth did have a few friends, but not enough to be able to say that he was never alone. For the past several years, he had been searching for the vixen whom he could look at and immediately say, 'That's her.' After all, that is the way love works, or so Kenneth assumed. For a moment, he seemed to be reeling Janet in, but his line broke just as he was getting his haul into the boat. Still, he wasn't quite ready to give up.

He put his cue stick away and pushed the case aside. "Listen, Janet. I'm sorry if I upset you, I didn't know you had a thing against hustling."

Janet's face softened. "It's not just that. You see, partly the reason foxes are still viewed as villains and thugs is because a lot of foxes shamelessly live up those labels. And the rest of us get shaft for that."

"Whoa, Doll, I'm not like the screwballs." Kenneth was starting to go on the defensive. "I'm a good guy. I have standards, I shower every day, I dress up preppy, I don't really cuss, and give to friggin charity, sometimes."

"We all have are standards, Kenneth, but the ones that matter come from the animals who decide they can ignore their own when it suits them." Janet said as she removed her hat, exposing a small, scarlet lock which fell over her right eyebrow.

"You're right; I think I _could_ be a model for _Dogue_." She closed her eyes, inhaled, and sighed. "But I'm a fox. The only instances other animals would be willing to photograph me would be for mug shots or porn."

Janet slouched in her seat, her mood dampened. "I never knew my father and my mother was always working 14 hours a day at the factory, only making about 30 cents an hour. She could barely afford to send me to school, let alone keep food on the table. Every night, Mother would pray with me and then say that I had a special place in this world. I just needed to find it."

Janet looked at the cover of her magazine and then held it out for Kenneth to see. "This was all I was able to find, Kenneth. And my poor mother passed away knowing that her daughter had become a derided siren on the cover of a second rate magazine from the ghetto."

Before Kenneth could respond, Janet continued. "But I've recently had an epiphany. What actually fuels stereotypes is not the bigotry of others, it's the actions of those being stereotyped." Her eyes narrowed and her smile returned. "If most foxes would not actually live up to that which they are typecast, then the bigotry of others would gradually go away."

While he didn't completely agree with Janet's statement, Kenneth did see her point in that the poor actions of many foxes did much to keep the idea of the whole species being shifty and untrustworthy alive. For a moment, he reflected on his own actions. He had very successful career in in pool sharking. He pulled his first hustle when he was nine in his father's own pool hall. The victim was an obnoxious wolf, Doyle Packard, who had just defeated Happytown's reigning champion in a game of Eight Ball. As Doyle gloated with his friends over a cigar and whisky, the nine year old kit marched up to him with his coin jar and challenged him. Predictably, the Doyle laughed in his face and then told him to go back to his breastfeeding. Kenneth begged and begged until Doyle relented and set up a table. Kenneth feigned juvenile incompetence during the first game, even going so far as to "accidently" shoot the cue ball into a pocket. Doyle was about to collect Kenneth's money until the kit convinced him to bet it all on one more game. Despite staking 3 grand for Kenneth's last quarter, Doyle had every reason to believe that he would win. Kenneth continued to botch shots as he strategically waited for the ideal moment to release his full skill. The moment came, and Kenneth mercilessly made hole after hole until sinking the Eight Ball. Predictably, Doyle resisted giving up his 3 grand. But the other patrons at the parlor were so impressed and amused by Kenneth's victory that they threatened to expel Doyle from the town pool club unless he complied. As Kenneth happily accepted his winnings, his father, who had rarely ever spoken to him, placed his newsboy cap on the kit's head. This unexpected acknowledgment from his usually distant father shocked Kenneth. But he was so proud of the hat that he wore it to bed that night and had been with it ever since.

Kenneth removed his hat as Janet had done hers. He humbly began to reevaluate his life from that night up to that moment. He had been one of the most successful pool players in Zootopia. In fact, his reputation had grown to the point where none but the most experienced or daring players challenged him. He rarely even had to hustle anymore, and the occasions that he did were usually out of town where he was less prominent or by betting a small amount from naïve onlookers on seemingly impossible trick shots. Janet's words had struck a cord within Kenneth's heart. His actions had doubtlessly contributed to the endless stereotyping his species had endured for thousands of years, and sitting in front of him was an innocent victim.

Neither fox said a word until Bethany returned with their orders. "Vegetable soup, extra mushrooms, with chai tea and two glazed donuts with a coffee, cream and two sugars. Are we square?"

Janet put her hat back on and broke her silence. "Yes, honey. Thank you."

Kenneth also returned his hat to his head. "Oh, absolutely. Thanks!"

Kenneth eyed his meal, but no longer had the appetite to eat. He could not get over how upset Janet looked while venting her frustrations. He wanted to make it up to her. He wanted to somehow make her smile again...and also restore her interest in him. There was only one way he could think of. It would require a drastic lifestyle change. The very thing which had defined him since his first sweet taste of victory the night he had won his father's respect had to be abolished from his life. But Kenneth felt it would be worth it. Anything was worth the interest of Janet Wilde.

Kenneth smiled as though someone had just told him he had won the lottery. "Janet, I've decided that I'm going to quit hustling."

Kenneth's abrupt statement quickly grabbed Janet's attention as she sipped her soup.

An expression of obvious skepticism slowly stretched across her face. "Just like that?"

Kenneth realized that he would need more than just words to convince Janet of his change of heart. "Yea. Well, I know it may seem a little... _sudden_. But you gotta believe me. I don't want you to get hurt because of me. I'd sooner throw myself off a bridge than do anything to you. Please give me a chance, Doll Face, I'll prove it!"

Janet was not impressed by Kenneth's malarkey and resumed her meal.

Exhausted, Kenneth was almost ready to give up. Still, he wanted one last fling at winning over Janet.

Kenneth sighed and chose his words carefully and honestly. "Janet, I'm so sorry. I can be a real screwball. But please give me a chance. Let me show you that I can be straight. I'm sorry about your mom and what all that's been going on in your life. But I'll do what ever it takes to make life better for the both of us."

Janet looked up from her soup with the same, disbelieving expression. Just as Kenneth had resigned himself to the fact that he had lost the perfect vixen, Janet's face softened. The next minute was agonizing for Kenneth as he waited for Janet's ultimate decision regarding any possible future together.

His gut froze as Janet sighed, looked down at her bowl, and then back up again. "Well, I would not have gotten as far as I have if at least some mammals didn't give me a chance. I suppose it's only fair that I give you one, too."

Kenneth felt an overwhelming sense of relief that warmed him from head to toe. "Thank you, Janet. You know, if I am gonna prove myself, I'll need a way of contacting you."

For the first time since their conversation started to go downhill, Janet graced Kenneth with seductive smile. She pulled a pen and notepad out of her purse and gave Kenneth her phone number. "I'm available on weekday evenings from 6 to 10, Saturdays from 9 to noon, and I'm free all day on Sunday."

Kenneth folded up the small sheet and put in his jacket pocket. "Oh, I should give you my number, too."

Janet got her pen and pad ready and Kenneth told her his number. Just as Janet finished writing down the number, she looked up at Kenneth with a raised eyebrow. "Wait a second. If you're not going to be hustling anymore, how are you going to support yourself?"

That was no problem for Kenneth. "Hustling is…or wait… _was_ only part of my income. I can still make money off tournaments and sponsorships. It's all totally clean."

Janet's smile returned. "So when can I reach you?"

Kenneth straightened up in his seat. "Unless I'm traveling, I usually head out at 7 in the morning and get back home by at least 11 at night. I'll let you know when I'm out of town."

The two foxes had a more leisurely meal after making amends. After paying they'd their tab, Kenneth couldn't help but ask, "Hey, um, you maybe wanna do something, later? What ever you feel like doing is just fine with me."

Janet thought for a moment. "Well, this _is_ my free day. I've been wanting to see this movie called _Jewels of Cotton._ It's a murder mystery and all my friends say it's swell."

Janet's smile turned sly. "That is if you're interested in such a thing."

"You know, I've wanting to see _Jewels of Cotton_ , myself," Kenneth lied. "So, what showing do you want to catch?"

"What do you say to 6:30?"

"Great!"

As Janet headed out the door, Kenneth reflected on what had just occurred. He had entered The Twisted Udder as an infamous pool shark with no prospect of ever finding love. Now he was about to leave as just another pool player who was about to start an exiting relationship with the most beautiful vixen on Earth.

Kenneth smiled at the possibilities.

* * *

Linda had not touched her food since Kenneth began his recount. She could not help smiling at this apparently love struck fox. Momentarily forgetting Kenneth's timid reactions when pressed about the current status of his relationship, she slyly asked, "Are you still in love with Janet?"

Kenneth's demeanor changed abruptly, quickly reminding Linda that there more to this drama and he clearly had no desire to elaborate on it.

Twice, Kenneth opened his mouth. Twice the words got caught in his throat. He mumbled something under his breath and turned to look out his window. Linda felt bad, but her curiosity was diving her crazy. What happened to him?

Or maybe it was something that happened to Janet.


	6. Chapter 6

Linda was unsure whether to apologize, or leave Kenneth to his thoughts. So far, Kenneth had always seemed to be able to recompose himself after going through these episodes of regret or remorse, or was at least able to put up a decent façade of composure. It was then it suddenly occurred to Linda that she genuinely cared about this fox's feelings. A sensation of irony and confusion caused her to lean back in her seat and really question her understanding of foxes. There were a few living in Bunnyburrow, but she did not know any of them personally. She had spent more time with Kenneth than with all the other foxes she had met in her entire life. It also occurred to Linda that she was now beginning to think of Kenneth less as just "the fox" and more as "Kenneth." By opening herself to him, Linda was beginning to see Kenneth was a fellow mammal with the very same emotions, passions, and capacity for good and evil as any other animal.

Linda was pulled out of her trance when a boyish voice piped, "Hey, you guys know what kind of plane this is?"

Bobby had stuck his head over his seat, hungry for a conversation about aircraft.

As Linda had hoped, Kenneth's smile returned. "I actually don't. What kind of plane is it?"

Linda suspected that Kenneth did in fact know the plane's model, but had decided to humor the enthusiastic young foal.

Bobby continued. "It's an Arboreal AC-3. It went into production..."

"Bobby!" Alice chided, gently pulling him back into his seat. She looked over her seatback. "I'm so sorry about Bobby. He's very enthusiastic about airplanes. They're all he ever talks about."

Kenneth gave a nonchalant chuckle. "It's alright, ma'am, he's totally fine. I want to hear more about this wonderful aircraft were on."

Bobby wasted no time resuming his lecture. "Arboreal built the AC-3 after Aero Metro requested an enlarged version of the AC-2..."

John Bellwether took a break from his writing to rest his cramped hoof-hand. He had been completely blocking out everything that had been going on in the cabin as he wrote. Once he was more aware of his surroundings, it did not take long for the John to pick up Bobby's conversation with Kenneth. The imperious ram remembered seeing a fox board the plane, and just had to peer over the seat in front of him to confirm if the young zebra was speaking to the fox. Indeed the foal was, and John grumbled to himself as he sat back into his seat. What self-respecting prey mother would be thoughtless enough to allow her child to speak to such a creature? And how on Earth did this fox even manage to get on this flight in the first place? John could not imagine any possible way that the fox could have acquired a boarding pass short of theft or fraud.

Growing up in Savannah Central, John had become accustomed to the signs on drinking fountains, restroom doors, and public spaces reading either **PREY ONLY** or **RESERVED FOR PREDATORS**. The middle-aged ram still recalled the first time he asked his father what those signs meant.

"Ah, my boy," Luscious Bellwether informed his seven year old son, "Those signs help to keep order within our city."

John, who was back then just a cross-eyed lamb missing two front teeth, asked, "How do the signs go about doing that, Pa?"

"Surely you've been taught in school that there was once a time when predators killed and ate prey?"

Young John nodded. "But that was a long time ago. Predators don't do that anymore, do they?"

Luscious chuckled highhandedly. "Predators may have, to a degree, managed to suppress their bloodlust. But they still carry that urge to dominate and eradicate all opposition. Of all the children you know in the neighborhood, what type tends to be the most aggressive and ruthless in competition?"

John thought for a moment. "Well, I would have to say predators."

Luscious smiled, satisfied that his son was beginning to understand his vital point. "Precisely, John. The idea that predators could ever truly dispel their brutal nature is entirely rubbish. Therefore, civilized prey, like ourselves, must be segregated from predatory animals for the sake of civil stability."

John was just a gullible child when Luscious imparted his views, so he accepted them at face value. Afterward, the answer he gave whenever a predatory child questioned or challenged those views was, 'Because my father told me so.'

As he matured, John clung to those speciest maxims. Now he was a journalist for the _Zootopia Times_ with a passion for stories concerning, what he considered, the struggle between the noble prey against the vile predator. In his spare time, he wrote pro-segregation political pieces to be published in magazines advocating prey supremacy under the pseudonym, Henry Lago. He didn't use his real name in those pieces for fear of being targeted by radical predator groups.

But even after twenty years of employment, he still had not yet achieved his coveted position as editor-in-chief. He had an opportunity to gain the position several weeks before, but he was passed up for a much younger gazelle. Of even greater insult was that, a few days afterward, he'd been ordered to cover the boxing championship tournaments at the Savannah Central Special Events Arena. John loathed boxing with a passion. The mortification did not end there, for he also had to cover a farm convention in some incredibly rustic community, where good manners are unknown.

Once John's hoof was rested, the urge to continue writing his latest essay flared and he went back to scribbling on his notepad.

Eliot Coon, the raccoon beside seated beside John, had been reading a newspaper. He swore that John had written over 100,000 words since stepping onto the plane and wondered what he could possibly be writing. Eliot was also getting bored, and decided to venture a conversation.

Eliot folded his newspaper. "So, you writing your memoirs are something?"

As he had done with Candace during the breakfast service, John turned from his notepad with a pompous eyebrow raised.

"Are you implying, because of the extensive work I have done, that I am of advanced age? Or is it because of my diligence I am an example of prodigious journalism?"

Eliot supposed that he should have known better than to try to start up a conversation with this particular ram. "Hey, I was only trying to start up a friendly conversation, that's all."

"Well, if you were asking the former question, you are most certainly correct. I have devoted my career to the crusade of truth and the elimination of lawlessness."

"And how do you go about that?"

"With a notepad and an ink pen dipped in venom."

When John returned his attention to his notepad, Eliot could not help turning to the hog sitting on the other side of the aisle and flash an expression of 'Can you believe this guy?'

Arnold Cain was staring into to space. He hadn't once looked out his window and, thus far into the flight, had only spoken to Candace. The little fox had no reason to speak to anyone. In one night, he had his Flyweight title, his dignity, and his mother.

As Arnold brooded, his peripheral vision caught Candace walking by. "Hey, stewardess, more coffee," Arnold commanded while raising his empty mug.

Candace smiled and retrieved the mug. "Cream and sugar?" She asked, remembering his order from earlier.

"Yea." Arnold replied in a bored tone.

Candace made her way to the galley, leaving Arnold to think back to what has perhaps the worst night of his life.

* * *

With the Flyweight Tournament in just over 7 hours, Arnold wasted no time preparing to defend his title. He relentlessly pounded the punching bag which had been set up by his manager, a beaver named Gerry Lodger. Gerry timed Arnold with his stopwatch, counting how many punches the aging boxer was able to throw. When one minute passed, Gerry stopped the watch.

"Time!" He shouted so that Arnold could hear him over the deafening thuds of his punches.

Arnold, who was wearing a grimy old tank top and sweatpants, removed his gloves and wiped his face with a towel. "How was that?"

Gerry, who was wearing casual jeans and a grey shirt, shook his head worriedly. "You're still a little slow."

"How many?" Arnold asked exasperatedly.

"About 110. You've gone down at least fifty punches in only a year, Arnold."

Arnold threw the towel onto a bench press and grabbed beer bottle setting on metal folding chair.

As Arnold took a swig, Gerry asked, "Arnold, I know this might be a bad time now, but I'm thinking that this whole thing is a mistake. I mean, you're 38 years old, you're partially blind in your right eye, and your age has been catching up to you. You've already won two consecutive Flyweights, why are you killing yourself like this?"

"Because no one's ever won the Flyweight three times in a row." Arnold took another swig, then his expression became grave. "And my ma's about to croak."

It had been 4 months since Arnold's mother had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and she wasn't expected to live any longer than a few more weeks. The news devastated Arnold, who had spent the whole year brawling his way to his third title. Before receiving news about his mother's impending death, his main drive for gaining a third title was for the prestige of having the record for most consecutive Flyweights. Now aware of the limited time his mother had left, Arnold spent all of his spare time with her either at her home or in the hospital, where ever her condition had put her that day. Dividing his time between his mother and training had a negative affect on Arnold's performance, and he just barely scrapped through the necessary matches to earn him a shot at his third title. During the final weeks his mother was expected to live, Arnold demanded that his promoter, Bruce Weaselton, postpone the match so that he could remain at his mother's side until her death. Bruce refused, arguing that it would cost a fortune to do so and would be too great an inconvenience for himself and the tournament's facilitators. Desperate, Arnold had called his mother, who was being cared for by family and neighbors in Bunnyburrow.

"Ma, Bruce is not letting me go. All he can talk about is money and I'm getting ready to…"

Arnold's mother, Herriot, despite her great pain, produced her signature, whopping laugh.

"There you go, mah boy." As quite as she was, Arnold could picture her big, toothless smile on the other end of the line. "You's goin' make some heads role, aint yah? Oh, Arnold, you never could resist fight'n. I remember when ye'd used punch your pillow at night like it was the Devil hisself. Your little ole mama is gonna be jest fine. When is your bout, anyways?"

Arnold sighed. As jovial as Herriot sounded, he could tell that she was in pain. "Next Saturday evening at 6."

"Well, Arnold, you is gonna be jest fine. Don't you worry 'bout me. The whole family is here with me and so is the Greys and Dennings. I is gonna be listen'n to your bout on the radio. Now you go on and win that third title and make yo mama proud."

Arnold never wanted the call to end, but his dying mother had at that point become so exhausted that she had to rest.

He had made that call the week before, but Arnold still remembered the entire conversation, word for word. It was that final sentence that haunted him.

 _Now you go on and win that third title and make yo mama proud._

The last thing Arnold wanted was for his mother to go to her grave with her last memory being that her son had failed to deliver a third Flyweight.

A loud bang echoed throughout the gym, gaining the attention of both Arnold and Gerry. Bruce Weaselton had flung the entrance door open. He was dressed in a pure white two piece and smoking a cigarette.

Bruce clicked his tongue reprovingly. "I don't hear any training going on." He then noticed the beer bottle Arnold was holding.

"The match is in just 7 hours and you're in here getting slammed?"

Arnold moaned. If he had a list of people whose faces he wanted to slam against the pavement, Bruce Weaselton would rank near the top.

"If anyone should be getting slammed, it's you! I should be home with my mother! All I asked was just an extra two weeks. That was all I asked!"

Bruce crossed his arms. "So, this is going to be the note that we end our partnership, eh? After all I've done for you? Remember, I made you. You'd be nothing if it weren't for me. I even gave you your fight'n name, for cry'n in a bucket!"

As much as Arnold hated to admit it, everything Bruce had said was true. Bruce had been fishing street brawlers from the alleys for years and happened to cross paths with Arnold while he was in the middle of beating the brains out of a wolf who had attempted to mug him. Bruce saw dollar signs all of the tenacious fox, and he invited Arnold to dine with him at fancy restaurant in Savannah Central to discuss a career in professional boxing. It was there that Bruce had come up with Arnold's fighting name. The restaurant's manager, who had been displeased with the rather vulgar and pungent fox and weasel, called them both "finnicks." Interested in the word, Bruce looked it up and learned that it meant to 'affect extreme daintiness and refinement.'

Thus, Arnold "Finnick" Cain entered the boxing world. Arnold insisted that he was capable of taking on the Heavyweights, but he was placed in the Flyweight division for the sake of staying consistent with the league's weight class standards. But Arnold quickly discovered that Bruce was far more interested in making money off of him instead of helping him to become a champion boxer. It was nearly impossible for Arnold to fairly negotiate his share of profit because he had nowhere else to go. He also didn't want to risk pounding the presumptuous weasel to a pulp because Bruce claimed to know good lawyers. In his early career, Arnold was an upstart wonder whom the boxing world had quickly learned to respect. But this amounted to little in the way of income as Bruce sucked his pockets dry.

Bruce pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and offered it to Arnold. "You read the paper, yet? Get a load of what Maple has to say about you."

Arnold swiped the paper from Bruce' paw and scanned the headline of the Flyweight Division article in the sports section, _Here Comes Brain Damage._

The black and white photograph below featured a squirrel punching a crude effigy of Arnold in the face while staring into the camera with his signature crazed expression. Arnold skimmed the article, then quickly crumbled up the paper and violently pitched it across the room. "So! The creep thinks I should be in diapers in a nursing home! Well, I'll set him up so that…"

"Whoa, whoa, Arnold, save it for the arena, OK?" Bruce kept his cool, self-assured expression. "Now, no more alcohol and get back to working out. Don't forget the press conference at 2 and do not mention anything about your mother. Trust me, it won't look good for you."

When Bruce turned around to head out of the gym, Arnold had to suppress the temptation to sock him in the back of the head. Once the weasel was out of earshot, Gerry turned to the grimacing Arnold. "I know that look. I don't blame you for wanting to beat the living daylights out of that swindler."

Arnold softened. "Yea, but you're alright. I…" Arnold seemed reluctant to finish what he was saying. "I just want you to know that I really appreciate all these years that you've stuck with me. You've been a great partner and I…I'm gonna miss working with you."

Gerry shook off his surprise and put his paw on Arnold's shoulder. "I'm gonna miss working you, too. I talked to my brother last night, and he said that he'd be willing to hire you. He told me that he'd be more than happy to have Finnick as a bouncer in his bar."

It was at that moment the cloud layer, which had been covering the sun, slowly lifted and golden rays glared through the gym's windows. For the first time since he had received the tragic news regarding his mother, Arnold felt a measure of peace. Thanks to Gerry, he didn't need to worry about employment following his final bout. Also, he didn't have to worry that his mother was thinking that he had abandoned her during her final days just to gain personal glory. Arnold went back to his exercises with no thought of losing the coming match.

The Savannah Central Special Events Arena was a multi-purpose arena, and the location of the Arnold's match. While it was used for various sporting events, the arena was best known for hosting professional boxing superfights. Tonight, the arena was hosting a tripleheader, with the Flyweight championship match as the first event.

Arnold never cared much for press conferences. The gaggle of jabbering reporters and flashing cameras gave him a headache, and he could care less about their idiotic questions about his opinions and decisions. Dressed in his usual brown trench coat and fedora, Arnold sat to the left of the league president, a burly rhino named Tony Chargely. To Tony's right was Arnold's opponent, Cletus Maple. The trio was sitting at a long table on an elevated platform, surrounded by a throng of reporters and photographers. Amidst the repetitive camera flashes, reporters wielding notepads yelled their questions.

"Arnold, are you still planning to retire after this fight?" A ground hog asked.

Arnold wondered how many more times animals were going to ask him that. "Yes, I believe I have made that very clear at the beginning of the year."

"Arnold, what do you feel about what Maple's comments regarding your age?"

Arnold clinched his fists. "I'm not going to say anything. I'll let my fists tell him how I feel."

"Mr. Cain, do you have any regrets about splitting time between your mother and training?" A ram asked.

Arnold loathed being asked that. "No regrets at all! You really think I need to be training 6 months straight to fight _that_ freak show?" Arnold threw a quick gesture to Cletus. "Wait until the fight. I'll knock that creep to next year, and I'll do it before your churros get cold."

Cletus erupted with maniacal laughter, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Cletus "Brain Damage" Maple was one of the most peculiar and colorful characters in the boxing world. He always had a wide-eyed, smiling face that gave him an air of insanity, and his frequent laughing fits further inflated his demented personage. The manic squirrel stopped abruptly and leaned forward to face Arnold on the other side of the bulky rhino.

In a shrill, childish voice, Cletus exclaimed, "So, I suppose I touched a nerve with what I said in the paper. Do you remember that little statue I made of you? Oh, how silly of me, how could you ever forget _that_?" The squirrel turned his crazed face to the reporters. "Arnold maybe sounding all big and tough right now, but two seconds in the ring with me, that old timer is going to be crying for his mommy. If she's still alive, that is."

"Why I oughta!" Arnold sprang up onto the table and attempted to rush Cletus. Tony quickly intervened by grabbing on the infuriated fox, who resisted while cursing and hurling slurs at the squirrel.

The reporters, elated by this newsworthy development, all jumped out of their chairs and elbowed each other to get a better view of the tussle. In the back corner of the room, Gerry slapped his paw against his forehead. It took nearly two minutes for Tony and the security guards to get Arnold under control. As the fox was being escorted out of the conference room by a police buck, the reporters attempted to follow but were deterred.

Tony stepped in. "All right, we're done here. No more questions, please."

Gerry made his way through the crowd and out into the lobby were the police officer had seated Arnold on a coach to let him cool off.

"Whoa, leave him be, sir. He…"

"It's alright officer, I'm his manager."

Arnold was doing what his mother had taught him to do to control his temper, taking deep breaths.

Gerry sat beside Arnold and put his arm over his shoulder. "Arnold, what were you thinking pulling that stunt off? What if Tony hadn't stopped you?"

Arnold showed no sign of regret. "Then I'd have already won the bout by default."

"You're not doing yourself any favors letting that freak play with your emotions. It's how he works. He jacks up his opponents before a match to make them lose their cool. You're walking right into his trap."

"You're wrong, Gerry. Being jacked up gives me my cool, and that nut job has just wrapped a noose around his neck!"

The reporters, who were being ushered out of the building, began exiting though the lobby. They tried to ask Arnold more questions, but the police emphatically deterred them. When the reporters were gone, the officers also departed. After few moments of silence in the eerily quite room, Gerry asked, "What do you say we have one last coffee before the match, eh?"

Arnold, now almost completely cooled off, replied, "Sure, but I need to take a wiz real quick."

Arnold hoped out of his chair headed for the restrooms. As usual in Savannah central, there were four restrooms: two for male and female prey animals and two for male and female predator animals. The restroom door with the captions **PREDATOR MALE** had a piece of paper taped to it labeled, **OUT OF ORDER**. Arnold, partly in response to the circumstances and partly due to his defiant nature, entered the bathroom labeled **PREY MALE**. Gerry sighed at Arnold's rash decision, but there wasn't anyone else in the room to see it. A few seconds later, one of the reporters rushed back into the lobby. Gerry opened his mouth, but was quickly cut off. "I forgot my overcoat, I won't take long."

The ram quickly retrieved his coat in the other room and started to leave, but at the last moment decided to take the opportunity to use the restroom. Gerry bit his lip as the ram approached the prey male restroom. He hoped that Arnold was hidden in a stall. As dumb luck would have it, Arnold exited just as the ram was reaching for the door knob. Arnold did not seem to care, but the ram definitely appeared insulted. Gerry put on an innocent look and rushed Arnold out the door.

Inside his dimly lit dressing room, Arnold sat on the table, jabbing at the air while Gerry messaged his shoulders.

Gerry moaned, "Arnold, what were you thinking going into the prey bathroom?"

Arnold didn't break the flow of his jabs. "What was I supposed to do? Go in the lady's room? Pee on the carpet?"

Gerry had a lot more to say this serious matter, but decided to change the subject for the sake of keeping Arnold's mind on the upcoming fight. He was wracking his brain for something else to talk about when a wave of nostalgia hit Gerry.

"Remember your first bout, Arnold?" Gerry chuckled at the memory. "It was a six round match up, and you knocked out that raccoon in within the first minute of the first round. I wish Bruce had given you a better fight'n name." Gerry chuckled again.

Arnold hoped off the table and donned his brown gloves. "That was almost fifteen years ago. And even after all I've put my brain through, I remember that fight like it happened this morning." Arnold assumed a ready stance and punched at an imaginary opponent.

The door flung open, revealing Bruce Weaselton. "We're up, Arnold. Give 'em a fight for the ages!" Arnold donned his purple rob and was escorted into the arena by Gerry. It was a full house with every spectator wildly cheering with anticipation. Arnold kept his scowling expression as he made his way down the aisle between seat sections. When the crowd noticed him, their reaction was almost universally negative.

"Hey, Gramps! The nursing home is down the block!"

"You need a cane, Arnold?"

"You're going to get killed, Pappy!"

Gerry whispered into Arnold's ear, "Don't let them get to you. Wait till you see their attitudes change when you knock Maple out."

Despite Gerry's reassurance, Arnold couldn't shake off the burden of clearly being the goat. It happens to all boxers. In their heyday, they become demigods in the eyes of passionate boxing enthusiasts. But once they cross that age threshold, and are eclipsed by another fan favorite, they instantly become aging relics that once was. Arnold new his day would come, but as well prepared as he thought he would be, he was now beginning to feel a rising sense of helplessness.

Arnold climbed into the ring and was greeted with the sight of his opponent. Cletus was sitting in his corner, getting a last minute shoulder massage from his handler. Cletus burst into a bout of shrieking, maniacal laughter when he noticed Arnold.

"Hello, Finnick! I have spent months getting ready to destroy you, tonight. I feel very sorry about having to do it in front of such a supportive crowd….oh, wait…everyone in this crowd HATES you now, and wants you to lose!" Cletus let out another bout of maniacal laughter. "Your time is up, Finnick! And it will be my honor to be the guy who gives you your final ignominious defeat!"

It took all of Arnold's will power to resist the urge to rush at Cletus. Gerry pulled Arnold down to his seat. "There he is, playing with your emotions aging. Remember, that's his strategy."

"Yea, well it's working!" Arnold seethed through clinched teeth.

"Just stay calm, Arnold, you got this."

Tony walked to the center of the ring with a microphone and bellowed in a low, raspy voice, "Ladies and Gentlemammals, the first contest of the evening, and the world title for the Flyweight Division. A 12 round bout, featuring the undisputed Flyweight Champion of the World, Arnold "Finnick" Cain!" The announcer gestured to Arnold, who removed his robe and rose from his seat. Even amidst the boos and jeers, he maintained his determined grimace.

Tony then gestured to Cletus. "And his opponent, Cletus "Brain Damage" Maple!"

The crowd erupted with applause. Arnold wanted to give that cackling freak a mouth full of broken teeth more than ever.

Tony exited the ring and the bell rang, signaling the beginning of the bout. Arnold and Cletus approached each in a ready position. They danced for a moment, and then Cletus threw a jab. Arnold blocked it and instantly retaliated with a right hook at Cletus' head. He somehow managed to dodge it and connected a powerful right hook to Arnold's abdomen, and then delivered a vicious left hook to Arnold's head. The crowd exploded and Cletus produced another fit a maniacal laughter. Arnold staggered backward, but remained on his feet. Cletus rushed at Arnold, who threw a left uppercut to keep him at bay. Cletus hesitated, and then charged again. But Arnold was ready. He successfully blocked and dodged Cletus' jabs and, when an opening came, threw a powerful punch right into the squirrel's muzzle. The shocked crowd gasped as Cletus staggered back. Seizing the opportunity, Arnold threw everything he had at Cletus, ending with a vicious right hook which knocked the squirrel to the floor. As the referee began counting down, Arnold stumbled backwards, but remained on his feet. Arnold had not prayed in years, but he silently begged God to keep Cletus from getting up.

When the referee reached 6, Cletus staggered to his feet. He whirled to face Arnold with his crazed expression, but now with a bloodied muzzle.

He laughed maniacally. "You'll have to do better than that!"

The bell rang again, and the opponents approached each other to renew their battle. Neither boxer went down for the remainder of the first round. As he sat his corner, wiping the blood off his face, Arnold reflected on the speed and endurance of his opponent. Despite knocking him to the floor with punch clean in the face, Cletus hadn't lost any of his stamina. If anything, he had become even more aggressive. Gerry handed Arnold a glass of water. "This guy is all about offense, just weather him out. It may take a few rounds, but he'll get tired sooner or later."

The second round went by, then the third ,and fourth. Arnold stayed mostly on defense, just waiting for the aggressive squirrel to tire. But Cletus never slowed down. Arnold had never seen a boxer so well-conditioned. If anything, Arnold was the one who was beginning to tire.

The bell rang for the fifth round, and thoughts of defeat began to cloud Arnold's mind as he approached the confident squirrel.

"You look tired, Finnick." Cletus said with a blood stained smile. "Could it be that you're finally starting to crack?"

Arnold had enough of Cletus' banter. "I'll give you a crack!"

Throwing caution to the wind, Arnold went on the offensive for the first time since the first round. He threw several jabs, forcing Cletus back. But the wily squirrel would not let himself get cornered, and started fighting back as he neared the ropes. The crowd was deafening as Arnold and Cletus viciously duked it out. Finally, Cletus connected with Arnold's head. Arnold faltered, encouraging Cletus to unleash a flurry of punches. Arnold was forced against the ropes and the crowd went wild as Cletus, now laughing uncontrollably, fired a barrage of punches against the cornered fox. The referee was forced to step in and separate the boxers, much to the crowd's displeasure. The near senseless Arnold wobbled away from Cletus to recuperate. By this time, he was beginning to resign himself to the fact that he was going to lose the match. Arnold managed to get back into a ready stance. Cletus did not give Arnold much time to collect himself and charged. He unleashed another flurry of punches, and Arnold's rapidly sapping strength could clearly be seen. At last, Cletus again connected with Arnold's head, knocking him to the floor. The crowd erupted as the referee began the count. Arnold's vision was blurred and he could not distinguish the referee's counting from the cheering crowd and Cletus' wild laughter. When the referee hit 7, Arnold staggered to his feet. He was tempted to forfeit, but he figured that if he was already this beat up, he may as well stay in the fight as long as he could stand. Arnold's vision was just returning to normal when he saw a flash of brown coming right at his face. Cletus' glove slammed into Arnold's face, knocking him back to the floor. The referee didn't even bother doing the count. Ruling that Arnold was unable to continue, he held up Cletus' arm to acknowledge him as the victor.

As Cletus was swamped by his relatives and handlers, Gerry rushed to Arnold's side. "Arnold! Arnold, are you alright?"

Gerry couldn't hear Arnold's gibberish mumbling over the crowd. Gerry gingerly picked up Arnold and rushed him back to the dressing room. When Arnold more or less awoke from his stupor, and was not surprised to find himself lying on the table in his dressing room.

Gerry wiped Arnold's cuts with a wet washcloth. "Arnold, you were out of that fight long before Cletus landed that last blow. Were you trying to get killed out there?"

Arnold let his defeat sink in. Months of preparation had been for naught, he had missed the opportunity to gain his third consecutive title, and he had let his mother down. Arnold slowly and painfully turned his head to the telephone hanging on the far wall.

"I need…to call…my Ma."

"Arnold, you need to rest."

"I said I need to call Ma!"

Gerry sighed and helped Arnold to the telephone.

"You have change?" Arnold asked, cringing at the throbbing pain in his head.

Gerry reached into his pocket and fed a nickel into the phone's coin slot.

Amidst the sober atmosphere within a darkened living room in Bunnyburrow, a small telephone rang. A red fox picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Arnold recognized the voice. "Gabe? How's Ma, doing?"

Gabriel Grey was the pastor at the local predator church in Bunnyburrow. He and his family had been helping to look after Herriot when she wasn't at the hospital.

Gabriel inhaled deeply and sighed. "She just went home to be with the Lord, Arnold."

Those words dealt an even greater blow than any of Bruce's punches. Arnold could not believe what he had just heard; he thought that she had at least a few more weeks left.

Gabriel sensed Arnold's emotional pain. "I'm sorry, Arnold. It was her time."

Arnold forced himself to ask, "When did she die?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

"Was…was she listening to the tournament?"

"She was."

"Did she hear about my..." Arnold stopped short. He never would have wanted his mother to know about his final defeat. "No, don't tell me."

Gabriel understood. "Arnold, I realize that you're going through a lot right now, but you'll be in our prayers and if there is anything you need, just let me know."

Arnold was in no mood for prayers at that moment. While he had been on good terms with Gabriel, it had been years since Arnold had been in a church. He just didn't think it fit his fighting lifestyle. But now, Arnold's emotions were in utter turmoil. He wanted something or someone, anything really, to give him peace. For the rest of that night, Arnold had folded into himself. There was nothing else in the world, only him and the sting of loss.

* * *

"Sir, your coffee." Candace jogged Arnold from his reflections.

With a blank face, Arnold accepted the steaming mug. "Thanks."

"Will that be all?"

"Yea."

Candace left Arnold to drink his coffee. He was about to take a sip when an unfamiliar voice said. "Hey are you…"

Arnold looked up and caught sight of the voice's owner. It was Bill Styne, the hog who was sitting behind him. "Hey, you are! You're Finnick! You're Arnold "Finnick" Cain!"

This was the last thing Arnold needed. He turned his head to face forward. "Wrong. I'm just Arnold Cain, now. Finnick died last week, knocked out by a demon squirrel in front a crowd who gave him the death sentence."

The Bill's elation turned into pure sympathy. "Oh, right. So sorry about the loss. I was reading about it in the paper, here." He handed Arnold the sports sheet.

The little fox hadn't actually read the article himself, but heard about its content from Gerry. It presented a very fabricated account of the fight, exaggerating Arnold's defeat in the most humiliating way possible while glorifying Cletus. No sooner did the paper reach his grasp when Arnold crumbled it up and dropped it on the floor. Bill quickly decided that the conversation was over and sat back in his seat, looking quite bewildered. There were only few passengers who overheard the Bill's announcement of Arnold's presence who realized who the fox was. The only one to maintain any interest was John Bellwether. The ram unbuckled himself and craned up to catch a glimpse of Arnold. Indeed, sitting on other side of the cabin just one row ahead was the very fox he had met the week before at that infamous press conference. It was also the same fox who dared to go into a restroom reserved for prey. Arnold's subsequent defeat granted John the opportunity to make the fox pay for his insolence. He sabotaged Arnold in his article, using every preemptory remark and insult he could think of while writing it. For a moment, the arrogant ram considered asking Arnold what he thought of his work, which he had considered among his finest. But he thought better of it and sat back in his seat.


End file.
